She is
by JayJ1
Summary: She is at once bright, and pure, and blinding. The only light left for him amongst the dreary grey of everyday darkness
1. a pretty child

She is at once bright, and pure, and blinding.

The only light left for him amongst the dreary grey of everyday darkness.

And not but a child, wayward and charming in spirit, when he'd first happened upon her that fateful day when his sights were set in stone.

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She is damaged, having stumbled and fallen down to her knees harshly.

Her long and yellowy hair obscures her small face as Rumplestiltskin appeared before her having been drawn in by the gentle song of desperate weeping.

"And what have we here?" He asked, indifferent to her childish scrapes, but curious instead by the sight of such a pretty little thing left astray in woods as dark and fearsome as these.

"Go away," that tiny voice demanded, though it's been made to sound broken by her ongoing sobs.

"But don't you know there are terrible things to be found in these parts, dearie, and is no place at all for a child such as yourself?"

Then he feels it; that velvety caress of the airs surrounding her. There is raw magic within and all around her; powerful and untamed. He moves in closely, intent on studying her.

His brow creases, "what is your name?"

"Emma," she declared, cries subsiding, "and I'm not afraid of monsters."

You should be. He tells her.

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She is spirited and temperamental, and wildly possessive of his attentions.

"Won't you play with me?"

Emma asks too sweetly, grown prettier in years but youthful still and unruffled by his display of irritation at her relentless and pointless summons.

Rumplestiltskin tilts his head in regard, finally conceding defeat, "and what game shall it be today?"

"Pirates," she declares grandly green eyes bright and twinkling. "They've stolen you away and now I must be brave to rescue you from their nefarious clutches."

He very nearly sneers, and immediately suggests an alternative, "why not let me teach you some tricks instead. _Magic_, dearie"

"But I want to be a hero," she counters with a frown marring her lovely features. "Won't you please let me save you?"

"And if I choose not to be saved?"

He asks casually, with only the slightest hint of trepidation and cautions. "Whatever will you do then?"

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She is heartbroken and cheerless, deceived by her own youthful desires.

A child at heart, "he said he'd take me away."

She tells Rumplestiltskin this pitifully. Yet his distance remains pointed and guarded while Emma stands somberly along the balcony edge, leaning heavily on the stone railing as she stares out into the great beyond. The world before her has darkened now, the moon it's only source of light.

"He said that he loved me."

He studies her in that moment, at the predominance of her newly acquired disillusionment – found in the stiff set of her shoulders and in the jaded tone of her voice- and thinks that she has never looked quite this lovely. Here in the dark with him. He soon steps in beside her.

"Are you truly that surprised that he lied? Deceived your precious heart?" His tone clipped. His intent then is still to pierce and hurt her further.

Hurt her as she had unknowingly hurt him with her thoughtless infatuations.

That wooden boy of hers had become a perpetual annoyance of Rumplestiltskin's as of late with his thrill for exploits and a knack for far-fetched storytelling that seemed to have swayed and ensnared her interests towards him and away from all else by doing so. And yet that cheap toy of a boy had been so easily persuaded away from her side with a small assortment of sordid and colorful temptations.

He'd simply been there to stimulate the boy's inherent nature to do so.

Still, such a fickle and wayward little boy that Pinocchio was in the end despite his influence. Poor craftsmanship of a man, is all; one thoroughly unworthy of Emma's adoration to begin with.

"And what would you do with my heart, Dark One?"

"Certainly not crush it, Princess."

Her eyes are dim with a chilling forbiddance as she turns to him. "Will you not?" His silence then is most telling. Still, she leans forward and kisses him.

In his arms she is innocence lost.

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She is recklessly curious, and resolute in her pursuit of truths despite their occasional costs.

"They say that you once called me the Savior."

She inquires in an offhanded manner as they stand with one another in an empty field of newly bloomed blossoms for one of their rare lessons together. To this day Emma remains childishly vocal in her distaste for the darker arts he insisted upon her in his teachings. Yet she has also grown bold and careless with their intimacy as of late; wielding his fondness for her as if it were a sharp weapon she can use against him at will even as she maintains an air of friendliness towards him in all other matters.

A doubled edged blade.

The kiss was purely impulsive and only a moment of weakness, she'd explained shortly after. And he'd played coy in return; told her that she was only a foolish little girl, easily overwhelmed by silly wants and desires. And that he'd always preferred his woman darker anyway.

Brunette, that is. He laughed.

She hadn't seemed convinced, yet she had conceited with a small but grateful smile. And that had been that. For the time being, that is.

"What did you mean by that?"

"It matters not. Circumstance surrounding you have been irreversibly altered and you are not who I foresaw you to be." Rumplestiltskin tells her these things in an equally careless manner though he catches with his ever calculating eyes the sight of their budding impact.

"And who was that?" She pushes while trying to remain passive.

"The protector of your people," he said. "Now you are simply their adored and charming princess; nothing more, nothing less, wasted potential at best."

He watches so carefully to what knowing of such a possibility does to the would-be heroine of that tragically untold tale.

The revelation has broken something inside of her.

As it did him

"Now how about that magic lesson, dearie?" He asked. But the flowers were already dead.

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She is wholehearted and pure, but foolishly fearless in nature.

Mostly, though, she was far too practicable in her self-sacrificing tendencies.

Emma's summons are untimely but not an unexpected surprise. Rumplestiltskin appears to her briskly, dressed finely, and adorned with a crooked grin suited only to her.

Barely a woman, and yet, she is enough of one to be a true and tempting threat to him now. He bows with an added flourish, "my lady."

"I've been quite curious," she begins, ignoring his theatrics, eyes evasive and pointedly guarded, "to know what you could have possibly demanded from my parents for them to so willingly risk the safety our kingdom by refusing to give it over to you."

She references the Ogres who have grown restless and more violent over the years. And of the Charmings request for assistance in defence of their people and their rapidly diminishing resources with each and every bloody attack that rages on.

These are desperate times. And this calls for the most desperate of measures.

So he purposefully remains mute, simply stares and waits for the offer to come. Emma steps towards him with a certain resolve set in her movements. When she's finally standing before him she leans in closely, arms rising up tentatively. Her hands, as delicate as they are steady, trace along the adornments of his detailed cravat while his all too lonely body responds to the teasing whisper of her touch. His breathing slows as his yearning heightens and builds into an awed anticipation as she slips her fingers through the tight knotting and begins unraveling it.

"And then I realized," she tugs the fabric loose, slips it off, and tosses it aside, "what that one thing might be."

"Oh…" he breathes, lets loose that long held breathe. But he dare not make this too easy for her. Not when he has been wanting for so long.

"You are far too presumptuous, and simple minded at heart. You have no idea the extent of what it is I truly desire."

Rumplestiltskin made a chiding tsk tsk sound prompting her to halt as she looks to him in confusion. Her sudden loss of nerve becomes blatantly obvious as is her growing humiliation at the fact. She quickly tries to move away but he seizes her arms; forcing her still, and keeps her near.

She struggles briefly, unaccustomed at being so manhandled, until she realizes that his hold is firm and too strong to be loosened. Frustrated, she refrains.

He openly admires such naivety. "Do you honestly think my wants could ever be so easily satisfied?"

Taken aback she asked skeptically. "What more could you possibly want?"

His answer for her is as simple as it is non-negotiable.

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She is so lovely and sweet, his corruption incomplete.

He sweeps Emma's hand into his own as the thick smoke settles, tugging her along hurriedly. Her sudden curiosities towards her newfound surrounding are of little importance to him to the current dealings between them.

He'll show her these things, he decides then sporadically, as he guides her along through the candlelit halls of his desolate home. Will entertain her, and perhaps make her smile for him in earnest, with the stories and histories of his accumulated treasures and trinkets.

But now was not that time.

He has her standing anxiously in the center of his chambers soon enough. Its bleak tone and shadowy aesthetics are a distinct contrast against her pale complexion and light coloring. He lingers back, admires the sight of her. And finds that she glows, before him, and is all he wants to see.

"So this _is_ your price then?"

She murmurs questioningly, looks to him with a daring only she would so fearlessly exhibit towards the Dark One as he approaches, even when the odds were stacked so heavily against her favor. She tries to read him, as she occasionally can, appearing quite apprehensive of his true intent—rightfully so—wanting to know why he needs to take what she was already willing to give.

"Is this really all that you'll be taking from me, Rumplestiltskin?"

Emma wonders aloud, but he doesn't say. Instead, his touch falls along her; invasive but slow.

.

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She tastes of honey and little white lies.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

Haven't found myself inspired to write much of anything new these days, mostly just been toying and tweaking with my old and unfinished stuff, a la the story above. This will likely have a 2nd part, if not a 3rd. Hope you enjoy.

xoxo

_This story is part of my new The Alternatives series._

_**On AO3 I have this story listed under a series but I've opted to keep them as separate entities here. Just a creative decision, like Golden Moments, The Alternatives is meant to be a series of unrelated stories. The only common element being that they are all canon divergent and based in the Enchanted Forest if the curse was never cast._


	2. a lost princess

She is with him, still, that next morning.

Waiting and adorned now in a plain gown of jade coloring that he's conjured into existence solely for her. Emma sits there with her long hair still an unruly mess of untamed curls.

_"That's it. Just like that" _

_He breathes, clawing at her silken flesh as she dutifully though gracelessly moves atop of him—as he'd so sternly instructed her to do so—while still finding ways to leave his mark on her secretly in the dark. _

_He digs in deeply, "that's a good girl."_

She remains silent mostly, passive and unusually still. Watching vaguely as Rumplestiltskin busies himself with his elaborate potion making; the liquids and vials, roots and spices, and charmed strands of golden thread lay in a scattered mess on the table between them.

Though her sleepy gaze tends to wander around their clustered surroundings as he works, his remain diligently focused on the task at hand; of making a particularly vile and seemingly effective sleeping curse to be used on the most physically powerful of adversaries.

It's one of the objects expected to be handed over to her from his end of their bargain.

Still, doing so is all he can do to appear preoccupied. And anything but acutely aware of her still being so close; his hand twitches almost painfully with the desire to reach out and touch her, force her near to him.

_He can't keep his greedy hands off of her. _

_Not when he finally has her like this; at his mercy and heart's content. Not even when he's taken too much of her already for one night. But it's been so dangerously long since he's felt the warmth of another under her palm, so he spreads his fingers over the expense of her bare stomach; pushes her down as he leans in over her to feel once more the wraith of his passions. _

_Blonde hair draped over black silk. Tired eyes flutter open as he falls upon her._

Once complete, Rumplestiltskin hands over the crystal vial to her. He wants nothing more than for her to remain here.

But, "I need to go home," is what Emma says to him instead.

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She is grown wary of him, but remains silent in her resolve to do what she thinks needs to be done for those she loves most.

Even if it is against her willful nature to do so, "things are not getting any better."

She remarks off-handedly during the calm of a particularly volatile evening together in this negotiated and so called dalliances between them.

The undertone manner in which Emma says it is laced with bitterness and a pointed accusation. But she doesn't want to look at him as she does so, he knows. Instead choosing to lean heavily against the frame of the balcony doors, a single bed sheet wrapped tightly around her body as she stares into the night sky while the brisk air cools her exposed and flushed skin.

In the distance she listens intently but miserably to the echoing clash of rage and battle. Behind her the bed moans deeply as a weight is lifted from it; the sound of it stiffens her posture and draws out her anger further, "you made promises that it would."

"I made no such claim. Your prideful parents have only ever asked for my occasional support with this conflict." He argued, rising to a stand; his own irritation with her boiling up to the surface, "have I not given it?"

"But always at a heavy cost."

She turns to him, suddenly crestfallen. Desperate she asked. "When will it end?"

Dressed lightly now—having whisked the remainder of his discarded attire away with a lazy wave of his hand— Rumplestiltskin situates himself opposite her.

He admires the beauty of this tragedy but gives no answer to her pleas. He only lingers for a moment longer before leaving Emma alone with that.

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She is devastated and broken; lost in tears and heartfelt sorrow.

Time has passed between the two of them and had developed into a repetition of sorts; an ongoing give and take. But in her eyes then it's all been for naught. Her commissions to him have ultimately bought her nothing in return.

Her parents were likely dead; bodies still warm but buried deep down now under layers of shattered glass and broken stone. All while her inherent kingdom lays in nothing but spectacular ruin.

A dragon roars as the Evil Queen has won her long war. And she is all there is left in its brutal aftermath.

Rumplestiltskin surveys the wreckage surrounding her fallen form, "there was nothing to be done. My assistance came too late to save any of them."

Emma looks up; bloody but relatively unharmed. Her face is stained by the remnant of her weeping; her eyes puffy and red but as inquisitive as ever as they stare up at him. Her next words are stated carefully but with pitiful certainty,

"You're lying,"

He denies nothing, nor gives any assurances to the contrary. All he offers her then is sanctuary and place by his side.

"The Ogres are not far off, dearie, and neither is Her Majesty. I am all you have now." He tells her, wanting to make clear that there was no other choice but to concede to this defeat.

Still, Emma willfully and adamantly refuses him, rising up boldly. For the briefest and most mesmerizing of moments Rumplestiltskin senses the quiver of a darkness drawing back within her; ready to let loose and strike.

But then, just a quickly, she turns around and runs away.

For the time being, he lets her go.

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She is gone, but he makes certain that there are always eyes on her.

Rumplestiltskin remains compulsively informed about her; hears too often of Emma's exploits and thrill seeking. And of how she so brashly and recklessly keeps putting her own self in harm's way.

Playing the hero, he imagines.

And, eventually, that she is frequently being seen in the company of a hook handed man; a handsome fellow and an infamous pirate captain no less. Or so the whispers claim.

His rage knows no bounds when those rumors inevitably fall upon his ears; objects are broken and torn and scattered and left laying in total disarray all around him in his heartbreak and absolute fury.

In his vengeful eyes she is suddenly no better than _her._

He banishes the thought from his mind before it can fester and truly take hold.

A nearby mirror then cracks before shattering completely. The tiny shards of broken glass cut at his hands and wrists. The almost gentle pain it brings is the only thing that can calm him down enough to breathe.

After that Rumplestiltskin tries to stay as far away from Emma as he can; if only for his own sake and sanity.

But it's a short-lived endeavor.

For it dawns on him swiftly one ill-fated night as he accidentally stumbles upon the pair of them—happens to spot a hint of a girlish grin he unwontedly misses as he works and deals and they drink together in the tavern carelessly—that ashes were ashes regardless of whose heart they belonged to.

And that this time they needn't necessarily be hers.

Pleased with himself and his inspiring realization and for the impending reckoning he'll soon be reigning down in one form or another, Rumplestiltskin eagerly treats the unsuspecting crew with another round of ale and carries on with his deal undetected by her inquisitive and ever vigilant green eyes.

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She is soon desperate and pleading; positively wrecked with emotion.

"Please don't kill him." She begs, relentlessly. "_Please._"

Emma is pitiful in her despair and in her attempts to inspire some semblance of his forgotten mercy, though his affection for her remains inescapably and as powerfully felt as ever as he stared down into her broken and desperately bright eyes.

All the while the pirate lays blissfully unaware at his feet.

The silly lengths she would go to save a life. To be someone's—to be anyone's—precious savior. "I'll do anything."

What a terrible thing for her to say.

And so it's exactly what he needed to hear.

Pacified by the sudden sway that comes by Emma's frantic declaration and soon dazed by the easy victory of it Rumplestiltskin hastily takes hold and pulls her to a stand. He speaks calmly, soothingly almost; tells her it's time to end this hero nonsense of hers once and for all. Tells her that it's time for her to come home to him.

So of course Rumplestiltskin doesn't catch on to the hook aimed straight for his heart until it's too late.

Emma's always been a resourceful one, he thought with a morbid sense of pride at her cunning duplicity, even as the pain she'd just inflicted heightens and spreads. He stumbles back as she quickly raises an open palm to blow a powdery red substance in his face.

"Maybe when you stop being such a selfish villain," he hears her sneer while turning away to gather up the barely conscious Hook to her side.

Numbly, he watches them go before crumbling to the ground as the world is left cold and tainted in nothing but black.

Rumplestiltskin just catches her glimpse back before it consumes him completely.

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She is still ruthlessly wanted; a bargaining chip tossed up and left to fall as it may.

By his hand no less.

An exchange is purposed. The Evil Queen is so certain of his interest in what she has to offer that she appears to him in person in all her conceited and exasperating glory.

And, in a rare moment of resignation, Rumplestiltskin finds himself inclined to simply allow her to speak her piece.

What harm could it possibly cause?

"We want the same thing, you and I," she suggested, a dark and knowing gleam in her resentful eyes.

So he studies her carefully; searches through that shameless and unhinged enthusiasm on full display to try and decipher the hidden agenda surely at play here. When he seemingly finds none Rumplestiltskin allowed himself to concede to curiosity—though the memory of their long and antagonistic history together strongly urged him to consider doing otherwise—and he finally asked, "Whatever could that be?"

"Our happy endings, of course"

He frowns deeply at that, at the sheer simplicity of it and of her overt coyness about the whole matter, but does not say a word as she continues on undeterred.

"I think you may have hidden away the means to achieving mine entirely, and so I thought it only fair to keep yours locked away from you."

The sharp and distinct pain in Rumplestiltskin's heart is suddenly felt, lingering softly still, yet it fluttered with a dangerous anticipation.

"What are you insinuating, Regina?"

"That, perhaps, it's time for us to finally change that."

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

Not much to say this time around. Just finally got around to writing this part. Even despite the sheer terribleness that was that finale ticking me right off (I stupidly caved and skimmed through it).

Hope you like this better than I liked that.

xoxox


	3. a dying woman

She is at her most wretched, of that he is certain. Why else would she feel the compulsion to summon him as she has now?

The room Rumplestiltskin finds her in is mostly darkened as he finally appears to her, the dim flicker of a single candle it's only source of light. The sound of Emma's breathing is shallow but controlled. A struggle though, clearly, as he notes her skin has paled quite significantly and that the candlelight glistens against its obvious dampness. He wonders if she even has any strength left to speak.

The first words spoken between them are his then, "the pirate?"

It excites him to see the instant clench of her fist, the thin blanket crushed in her hands. All that was missing was a heart between them. Her weakness and strength on full display for him to both loathe and admire in equal measures. But she loses the battle for the will to look him in the eye as she nods her head in defeated affirmation.

"It seems his need to exact some form of revenge against me has outweighed any sort of…"he pauses then to find the right word, for affect and for flair and because it was cruel, "…_fondness_ he may have carried for you."

"You knew it would," Emma accuses, he words stressed but enduring

"I suspected," he corrected, "two hundred years is a long time to hold a grudge."

"It's why you came after us—after me—the way you did that day after staying away for so long." Emma concluded with a resigned shake of her head. "You knew that if Hook saw that you cared about me that he would try to find a way to leverage it against you. And so he has, at my expense."

Rumplestiltskin approaches her carefully, lays a cool palm against her forehead, and studies the deterioration already caused by the poison. Emma leans weakly into the touch, to what little relief it offers her heated flesh.

He allows his hand to linger as he tells her proudly, "He's dead now."

She stiffens but says nothing. He reads her silence for what it is, "but you knew that I would kill him, didn't you?"

"I suspected." And wasn't Emma just full of wonderfully dark surprises, his darling Princess and forgotten Savior, so like her parents and yet nothing like them at all. A testament to the subtle influence he's had on her in all these years together. Rumplestiltskin hummed and mused aloud, "Does it please you? Knowing that I would hurt anyone for daring to hurt you?"

Emma leans back to look up at him with a stare both jaded and cutting, "you who have hurt me most of all?"

His hand lurches, shifts from its place on her forehead to the back of her skull, fingers lacing through hair but not painfully so. Not yet. "The Queen wants you desperately. And I find myself growing more and more inclined to hand you over to her."

She is unfazed, like ice, asking him briskly, "Am I to beg for my life now? Bargain its value and worth to you?"

"What do you think has kept you alive and safe from Regina all this time?" he seethed in return, his anger sparked to life and threatening. "Why summon me at all, knowing the creature that I am and have always been towards you? What's there to gain for me by coming here to save you?"

Her eyes melt for the briefest of moments against his own, the poison seeping through and taking its toll, "I don't want to die. Surely you don't want me to die ether. Cure me or don't cure me. But understand that there's no deal here to be struck. This time I won't give you what you want so easily, or so foolishly."

Rumplestiltskin lets her go, lets Emma crumbles down into the bed. Her remaining strength diminished completely at this point. She stares up at him openly and strangely as he considers her in return.

"Maybe I don't want you anymore. Not like that at least," he decided then and there, because he won't let her win like this. "Not when I can have instead something I thought I lost a long time ago."

Emma looks at him curiously, "what?"

"True Love, dearie"

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

Short but an update no less. This snippet being longer than the ones in previous chapters is what made me decide to post it as its own entity and chapter.


	4. a poor soul

She is not without sin.

As susceptible to her darker desires and impulses as his once prized pupil had been and just as formidable when she needed to be.

This is how Emma had once nearly killed the Evil Queen.

She had been so curious, seemingly out of the blue, particularly about what it meant to be a savior. "There must be some advantages to it. Not just the ability to break a dark curse that was never cast."

And she'd been relentless in her quest for answers. Managing to coax from him a theory he'd had about her. "It's not just that you're the savior that matters but that you are also the product of true love. It makes the magic you naturally possess unique and unpredictably powerful."

"How so?" she had asked.

It was not long after that when the Dark One found himself being unexpectedly and desperately beckoned to her side.

"She tried to rip my heart out but it didn't work." Emma did not look up as she described the encounter, eyes too entranced by the pitiful sight and sounds of the woman laying helplessly at her feet. "I managed to strike back while she was distracted."

Rumplestiltskin sauntered closer to study the carnage wrecked upon his former student. The Queen groaned and gurgled up blood in a fit of coughs as she clutched at her abdomen frantically. Her brown eyes, once she was able to focus them upwards, begged for him to save her though the added sneer she gave suggested only contempt at the prospect of having to plead for it.

He promptly aligned himself next to the Princess, glimpsed the dagger still held tightly in her right hand, before bemoaning woefully, "It's a sad thing to see such ingenuity go to utter waste."

With that and a brisk flick of his wrist the damage was swiftly undone to Her Majesty. Emma gaped at him openly, as did Regina. He spared the latter a single warning glance before snatching up the blonde and ushering them both away in a puff of smoke.

Once they had reappeared into the darkened castle, he turned his head away, declaring to the two figures standing and waiting nearby, "as promised."

Emma wiped her head around to see who he was talking to. Her whole body turned to stone.

"Your daughter's hands remain clean."

He gives them a quick look over before adding, "Metaphorically speaking, of course. She'll need to wash off the actual blood for the expression to ring true."

Emma shoved herself away from his hold, marching towards her parents in a flustered rage, "what have you done?"

"Stopped you from making a terrible mistake," Snow said, looking at her daughter with a mixture of disappointment and sadness. "We are not cold blooded killers, Emma. We raised you to be stronger than that, to be better than them. It's what has always separated us from the evil in this world."

"The Evil Queen attacked me. I was only defending myself."

"You knowingly went wondering alone into the borders of her land looking for a confrontation. You wanted her to find you." David said harshly, echoing his wife's disapproval. "You planned this."

Her father's accusations—seemingly _accurate_ accusations by his daughter's reactions—silenced the Princess completely.

So instead she directed her vexation at him. "What did you promise the Dark One for this?"

Said Dark One chimed in shamelessly before the King and Queen could, "an invitation, dearie."

All three royals shot him a heated glare before Emma turned back to her parents for further clarification. Finally, Snow explained.

"To the ball we were going to surprise you with for your birthday."

Mortified and furious by the unwanted turn of events, Emma threw the bloodied blade to the floor, beaten; it clattered against the stone loudly as she spun on her heels and marched straight out of the throne room. Rumplestiltskin watched her go, thoroughly besotted by those same turn of events.

"See you at the party," he declared gleefully at Charming and Snow before vanishing from sight.

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She is resigned to her impending fate.

This Rumplestiltskin had not wanted. Nor the weight of the unease that follows and sits upon his shoulders and against is chest at the realization of the fact.

They sit across from one another in the carriage; the journey to Her Majesty's castle a long and rocky one. Both swaying from side to side as the horses trotted forward on the uneven road though they're eyes rarely wavered from one another. Assessing and calculating, with even the occasional flash of bewilderment by the changing shades of the other's.

"Why not just magically transport us there?"

She is better now, for the most part. He had made it so.

"Why are you prolonging this? It seems cruel, even by your standards." Emma inquired insistently, not out of fear but more so a detached curiosity. "Just give me to her and collect your prize."

"Perhaps I'm savoring my victory." He rebuffs, unamused. "You have turned out to be no more than an inconvenience to me and my time after all these years. Time I could have had with _her_. It's almost cathartic to be wasting yours now."

"Of what is left of it, you mean." She snapped back.

They carry on in silence after that, their final destination drawing nearer with each passing moment unspoken. Emma actively avoids his gaze until finally Rumplestiltskin is unable to help himself.

"It didn't need to be this way." He reprimands sharply, incapable any longer to shake off the anger at her incessant stubbornness and the path it's led them to. "I offered you ample opportunity to avoid this particular ending for yourself."

She is visibly stunned by his declaration, by the raw and unadulterated bitterness of it.

Momentarily at least, inspired and seemingly finding her next course of words on a whim. "You know, I asked my father once if a self-proclaimed beast such as you could ever love someone purely and without ulterior motive. " She paused then; to gradually remember the details that followed. "He told me that he believed that you could. That he even suspected that you had. And that he believed wholeheartedly that anyone could be made better by love."

Emma shakes her head at the memory, a bemused but weary sort of smirk dancing across her lips as she reminisced and finally concluded, "I am not so certain of that."

He can only nod agreeably, "I've always considered myself a difficult man to love."

"Loving you was not the problem." She conceded, sighing at the crux of the matter. "Being loved by you was."

The carriage soon slowed. Then came to a dead stop.

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.

She is so very happy, some of the time.

He finds ways to make her forget her growing anger and resentment towards him, of her frustration and exhaustion with their dealings together, and of his ongoing manipulations of them to try and tame his seemingly never-ending want and obsession with having her near. Ardently seeking out ways instead to make her flash a real smile for him and be thoroughly delighted by his antics as he had once done so easily back when she had been nothing more to Rumplestiltskin than an exasperating but good-spirited child to amuse his loneliness with.

When they had toyed with the novice elements of magic to pull off pranks and played games of grand and make believe adventures with each other.

A simpler time, for them both, "there are really other worlds?"

Emma asked him dubiously, and for what felt like the hundredth time that day, as he led her down the empty hallway; on their way to being transported to the room with the other worldly doors. She held on tightly to his hand today as he guided her; a clear indication of the excitement she surely felt at the prospect of such a strange and wonderful journey to be had.

"Stop asking that question," he scolded though his tone remained light and nearly teasing, "I'm showing you, aren't I."

"I know but it's just so hard to imagine," Emma said.

"There are many different worlds to explore and see. Some too fantastical to even begin to explain with any clear logic, such is the place called Wonderland. You remember hearing stories of that one." He elaborated, determined to excite her further. "Then there are others that are so odd that they lack any color to them at all. I knew a mad doctor in that one."

Once they had arrived, the hat of an old friend gripped in hand, Emma finally asked, "which one will you take me to?"

"Wherever you'd like to go," he urged her forward. "The final choice, as always, is yours alone to make."

She'd barely been able to suppress her wide grin then as she slipped away and wondered past each and every door tempted but studiously before making her decision. Rumplestiltskin's hungry eyes had never strayed once from the sight of its joyful glow.

Oh yes, he could make her so very happy, some of the time.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

It's an early Christmas miracle :) This story keeps wanting to evolve so I've decided to let it. Its definitely expanded beyond the two/maybe three chapters I initially planned for it to be.

Hope you all are still liking it. Cheers! Xoxox


	5. a tea lover

She is not her.

Belle is unwell. That much has become quite clear to Rumplestiltskin in the short time since their reunion. Her imprisonment in continuous solitude at Regina's spiteful hands has rendered her once brilliant and adventures mind to dust; wayward and perpetually lost to the wind.

Though she tries to be as she once was—just as much as he tries to be patient and better for her—most of her days are spent speaking to inanimate objects scattered about the castle as if they are old friend newly reunited. She chats affectionately and laughs along with them for hours on end; the sight and sound of it polluted by a certain kind of madness.

One Rumplestiltskin is familiar with. It reminds him of an old friend.

Emma had been unabashedly fond of Jefferson—of his oddities and eccentric charm—though their acquaintance had been a brief but charged one during the final remnants of what was to be a lost and happier time in her life. Before the Dark One had irreversibly contracted it to be struck down and torn apart once and for all by a broken woman's petty revenge, and by his own greedy wants and desires for a girl too good for this world to begin with.

_They had gone off and had themselves a tea party. _

_He'd happened upon the two of them lounging amongst the fields of his land one summer's day. As they each swallowed their last remaining drops of the spiced blend that was the former Mad Hatter's current favorite to entertain with. The madman drank it obsessively; enough so in his company for Rumplestiltskin to be familiar with it by scent alone._

_"What have we here," he'd muttered to himself, perplexed at the sight of the pair of them together. He had felt the allure of her power nearby the moment he had reappeared in his study and so had immediately set out on locating her. _

_He did not expect to find Emma as she was. _

_Positively beaming where she sat, which was on a makeshift picnic blanket devised by tossing Jefferson's long coat onto the grass. Bright eyed with wonderment and laughter as she watched her strange companion balance their now empty teacups and saucers on a single spoon for her entertainment and amusement. _

_Rumplestiltskin approached noisily wanting to make his presence known but nonchalantly enough so as to not dampen the pleasant mood that was its current setting. Despite the unexpectedness of it, it was not an entirely disagreeable sight to see._

_He caught Emma's attention first. She looked up at him. "I've just met your friend."_

_"I can see that," he said, eyeing said friend pointedly. Who opted to play coy._

_"What are you doing here?" he asked him._

_"I'm enjoying a lovely cup of tea in the company of the most enchanting lady I ever had the good fortune to stumble upon in your castle."_

_"That, I see too."_

_Emma grasped on to his dissatisfaction with the answer and elaborated further. "We came across one another in one of the hallways, both in search of you. Once we realized we weren't going to find you Jefferson suggested we come out here to enjoy the sunshine and have a drink while we waited for your return."_

_That's right. He hadn't been there. He had been off dealing with the Evil Queen. Having a long overdue chat about a dragon. _

_"Emma says you had an engagement set with her for today. Had you forgotten that we were to meet this afternoon to discuss some matters you needed my lucrative talents to attend to?" The other man questioned innocently, a tad too much so for his liking._

_But before Rumplestiltskin could answer, admit that maybe he actually had forgotten. Emma piped in. _

_"Jefferson tells me he's a world traveler. That he helps you collect things that are difficult to come by."_

_"And the lovely Emma here has begrudgingly admitted to being an occasional student of yours." _

_Neither was a direct lie to the other, but it seems that the pair had intentionally left out the more sordid details of their own dealings and relationships with him. That was good. It meant they didn't trust each other._

_"Yes, well, I'm back now." Rumplestiltskin said, feeling no need to interject an opinion on of their collective fabrications. He wanted to move on from this completely. "Looks like tea times over." _

_"A shame," Jefferson pouted at Emma who poorly suppressed a grin._

_He took a deep breathe, a loud inhale through his nostrils. Two set of eyes directed their sights back over to him and realized his patience was weighing thin. Emma rose up to her feet first, dusting off her pants lightly. She stepped towards him, leaning in closely so only he could hear. _

_"I can't stay."_

_Rumplestiltskin nodded curtly. So she had merely come to collect today. His frustration with that is dully felt but not shown. _

_With a twist of his wrist he produced the small box to hand over but held off from letting go of it once she reached out and tried take it from him._

_Her cheery mood promptly blackened; the implication of the gesture quite clear to her at this point in the game between them. He'd have his payment soon enough, the pointed and heated stare she gave in return assured him of that. His grip loosened acquiescently. _

_Emma jerked the box free, side stepping him to take her leave. But despite her frustration, she still turned back and bid her new acquaintance a fond farewell._

_"It was really nice meeting you Jefferson. We should do this again sometime."_

_The man himself had risen to a stand and waved back his own goodbyes. Placing himself next to Rumplestiltskin as the pair watched the blonde disappear over the hillside._

_Once she was gone, his own mood soured to the point of no return. _

_"Be mindful of your intentions with that one the next time you so conveniently run into her and ask her out for tea". _

_Rumplestiltskin warned ambiguously. "She is very dear and precious to me."_

_"Does she know that?" Jefferson snorted, giving him a lewd stare. _

_"Do you?"_

"Would you like another?" Belle's sweet voice broached and permeates the memory, jolting him from his reverie.

She held up the old teapot she had come to affectionately refer to as Mrs. Potts to emphasize what she was purposing. Rumplestiltskin looked down sharply and was surprised to find his cup empty. Strange, he hadn't even realized he had downed its contents, so lost had he been in his own head; as mindless and careless as an old hatter.

_"I couldn't help myself, old friend. Forgive and forget?"_

He stares up acutely at the white porcelain Belle gripped in her hands, at its odd detailing and craftsmanship with its spiralling patterns and wildly bright colors. Remembering then who had given him that particular pot along with its entire set. The same ones, he realises, that the unlikely duo had found and used that day.

Rumplestiltskin smiles tightly but still kindly at the oblivious and beautiful blue-eyed girl sitting patiently across from him.

Shaking his head, he pushes the teacup away. "No, it's better I don't.

.

.

.

.

She is there; sometimes still.

He lies in bed for the novelty of it mostly.

And closes his eyes because even the allusion of falling into a dreamlike state of being is a pleasant one despite his inability to physically do so. He's come to long for it in the tedious and dull lapses in time during the emptier nights, to trick his mind into its persuasion; for the sensation, for that particular and soothing warmth that came with the awareness of having another body there by one's side.

What only a fantasy can remake and share anew.

Rumplestiltskin misses her, misses her endlessly. And without reprieve, not even the strong and near incessant pull of the golden threads he weaves these days can distract him from the billowing depths of it.

He wonders often if the Evil Queen has gone ahead and killed her.

But he is still very much that lowly coward and as such is too frightened to find out for certain.

So he's come to do this solitary and odd ritual as an active alternative to knowing the truth of what has become of her; settles his fretful body into the welcome obliviousness of the mattress with its soft embrace, rests his eyes purposefully against their need to seek out and see, all so he can pretend to make himself dream.

It's an old feeling that comes sweeping along with the notion being forced into the surface of his conscious mind.

Some nights, not so long ago, Rumplestiltskin would have spent hours and hours doing exactly this. Lying in bed next to her. Awake as she slept. Her warm breathe drawing along the column of his throat softly, soothingly, like the caresses she so hesitantly offered in her wakeful hours spent against him.

But this is different. It is unique, uncommonly felt.

The simplicity of it brings a momentary stillness from the raging storm of emotions he weathers through internally whenever she's within arms reach. He finds contentment here, in the mundane nature of it. It reminds him of a more modest time in his too long a life; when he was a common man, with a common wife, and a baby boy soon to be growing on the horizon. Before war had shattered that hopeful fool and had left nothing but a pitiful and desperate cripple in his place. But like this, feeling the airy flow of her breathing tickling his skin, he finds that he aches for it still, for that existence; for the better parts of the man that were perhaps capable of being a good husband and father.

Turning his head, Rumplestiltskin studies her sleeping face.

She appears to be at peace.

It is as much a comfort to see as it is a punishment to evoke.

A sleepy green eye flutters open, as if summoned by will back to life. The other following in its wake once she realizes he's watching her sleep again. Roused unexpectedly from her deep slumber she slowly raises her head and casually props it up on an elbow to look down on him drowsily from above.

"Why do you do it? Stay with me through the night like this?"

He tries to think of a kinder answer than the truth.

"To protect you, silly girl."

"From what?" she asked dubiously in return, but in good enough humor to play along with the mood he has set out to bring into this moment.

"From the monsters lurking underneath the bed, of course," he tells her with a sly quirk of his eyebrow. As if it is the most common of knowledge to know in all the realms on such matters.

She laughs, in a way. Counters astutely, "Oh I think the beast under there has long since crawled out and gotten me."

Rumplestiltskin smiles delicately at the well-aimed slight. Eager to touch her then, tug at one of the many stray strand of her blonde hair playfully before drawing his palm up further to rest it against the warm expense of her cheek; cradle it, urge her near to rest atop his chest, even if only for a single heartbeat of a second.

He doesn't though, finds he cannot break the spell of inaction that has locked itself within his bones.

So he tells her, "Only because I love you so."

"You silly monster," she mumbled as she shifts and slips away. Drops back down on the pillow to rest; reconciled with falling again into sleep. But not before she whispered knowingly.

"You're going to love me to death."

His throat tightens; she's succumbing quickly and is lost before he can speak up and rouse her once more. The intimate farce of a nightmare ends with a chocked sob tearing out from his throat.

Alone in bed Rumplestiltskin lies, as awake now to the world as he always is.

Openly, he weeps into its emptiness.

* * *

**Author's Notes**

Another update! With another longest chapter to date for another story!

The inspiration and writing have just been flying out of me this week. And I'm very pleased it has. The Tea Scene was a long time coming, I'm glad I was finally able to finish and post it. I hope you all enjoyed my minor Beauty &amp; the Beast retcon with poor Belle. And that Jefferson popped up :) I also think I've figured out my endgame for this story. Which is awesome as its really developed and expanded beyond what I initially thought it would be.

Thanks for reading Xoxox


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